


Together in Electric Dreams

by ocelot_core



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Psychoanalysis, Sort Of, bosselot only because everything is about bb w ocelot, by kaz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 19:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20140843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ocelot_core/pseuds/ocelot_core
Summary: Ocelots are proud creatures, they prefer to hunt alone. (Adam isn't really an ocelot, though, is he?)Miller thinks he knows Ocelot, he doesn't, but he does.





	Together in Electric Dreams

"Fuck off, Ocelot"

Ah, finally. People were always telling Ocelot to fuck off. He enjoyed it, provoked them to it. From his earliest tutors, to Raikov, to John's new blonde (he really could be predictable), Ocelot thrived on pushing people's buttons. A shitty one-liner here, a raised eyebrow there, all to get that excellent scowl; the knotted eye brows and crickled forehead, and, if he was lucky, the words that said, "Fuck off". It made his mouth twitch in ways other people probably identified as happiness.

Ocelot usually stopped there, if the person he was pissing of was of use to him (and usually, if he was conversing with someone, they were). So he stopped there, for John's new blonde, and sat back in the passenger seat of the jeep. (John's new blonde wasn't actually all that new, but the name was assigned to Kazuhira Miller now, and wasn't ever going away. Unless John got a new new blonde, but he'd have to wake up first.)

They arrived at the compound - the current base of _Diamond Dogs_, their new army, built in the name of Big Boss. It was... unimpressive, by Ocelot's standards, but then he was used to Soviet Union money, not gun smuggling, drug running money. John's new blonde slash live-in accountant attempted to lock himself away to paperwork and, presumably, shit whiskey, but was persuaded otherwise by Ocelot's offer of good Russian vodka and cigarettes. (Values good booze over menial paperwork. Interesting, he does enjoy his menial paperwork.)

And so they drank, away from the men, in Ocelot's makeshift office. It had nothing distinguishing to mark it as _Ocelot's_, he wasn't nearly that stupid and careless (or around often enough), other than the fact that it just _was_. The flurocent bulb hung from the ceiling, bathing them both in clinical white light. Then John's new blonde ruined it and started talking.

"Why do you rile people up all the time?"

"Is that a question you want an answer to or just a general musing?" Ocelot did not have time for rhetorical musings, unless they were his own, and John's new blonde tended to use them with irritating frequency. Habit from talking to John too much perhaps, one did always have to check he was keeping up.

"Genuine question," At least he was straight to the point, when he had one.

"I enjoy it." (Ocelot got a look in his eye then; someone naive might call it mischevious, the glint of a childish prankster. Anyone who had seen him working, really working would call it something much more dangerous.)

"Right. Got picked on at school now you're lashing out anyone available." John's new blonde said this as a jab, with the sting in his voice he reserved for retorts against what he probably considered John's old blonde. Ocelot found it hard to see this as a jab, because it couldn't have been more off the mark. "Though nothing's that simple with you." He added. Ah, a pre-programmed insult, one he's used before and dropped on reflex. Good to know he acknowledges the forces at play, though.

"Hm," was the response Ocelot gave. (That look was still there, though, but less smug, with a shade of annoyance. Don't let _him_ see that.)

"You've really haven't had any friends." A statement of fact, presented as though John's stockholm syndrome functioning crack addict (He was one to talk) knew him at all. No-one knew him, not really. (Except EVA, but that was only because of similar childhood circumstances, not any genuine _bond_.) Ocelot raised an eyebrow. "The second I was on your side you started seeing what it would take to throw me off it. You push until I tell you to fuck off and then you offer me vodka and cigarettes. You can't stand the thought of being alone or the idea that anyone could like you so you keep people close enough to use but far enough to be alone."

Ocelot maintained eye contact, saying nothing, until the dumb blonde shrugged at him, took his cue and left. It was very helpful when people told Ocelot exactly what they thought of him, made his job easier. Sometimes they were right, sometimes they were wrong, sometimes they were half-right and half-wrong. (John's _dumb blonde_ had seen right through him.) This could be very dangerous or an excellent asset. Keep him close, make him think he's special, carry on as usual _or_ let him keep making unbased psycho-analyses and carry on with an extra annoyance of avoiding that conversation for the sake of keeping up appearances (if thats what he wants to call it). An easy choice.

(And if perhaps it isn't entirely for an easier cover story, well, no one has to know.)


End file.
